Vanilla Twilight
by RainingMonday
Summary: Addison rescues another abandoned baby through Safe Surrender and this time she’s not letting go, especially since she knows the parents are gone for good. The fight for the baby is difficult but the rewards of motherhood are worth it. Post season 2.


*** . * : * Vanilla Twilight * : * . ***

**This is my first PrP fanfic, about Addie bonding with a baby she rescues. She was so cute with Batgirl in season one, and I know this is an unlikely thing to happen in season three since Violet just had a baby, but I hope Addison gets her kid eventually. This is my version of it. I'm ignoring a couple plotlines, like the one about Naomi going to the other practice. Title is the song Vanilla Twilight by Owl City.**

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The shrill ringing of a phone twists its way into her dreams, yanking her reluctant consciousness from the comfort of a reality in which anything can happen. Addison tries to ignore it, but sleep is seeping away quickly, like sand through a sieve.

"Addison!" Whose voice is that? "Addison!"

She looks up to find Pete staring at the phone in the protective cradle of her arms. They are participating in Safe Surrender again and he is tapping his fingers against the table impatiently, unable to answer the phone as she insisted she be the one to do so. Resisting the urge to grumble, she presses talk and attempts to banish the drowsiness from her voice as she speaks. "This is the Safe Surrender hotline."

Soft sobbing meets her greeting and Addison instinctively clutches the phone tighter, as if that could somehow help save the soon-to-be abandoned baby.

"Hurry up!" a voice snaps in the background, and the menace in it makes Addison shiver.

"I just – I just can't," the first voice wails and there is a thump and silence.

"Hello?" Addison says urgently.

"We're leaving the baby at the Boardwalk, under the pier," a deeper, rough voice says. "Wait thirty minutes before coming here. If we see you …" He leaves his threat hanging in the air, but it is not those words but the safety of the unknown baby that makes her heartbeat quicken.

"Wait!" Addison calls out in desperation. "The tide -" There is a click and the line disconnects. "Shit," she breathes, grabbing Pete's muscled forearm and twisting it so she can see his watch. "3:17, that's 3:47, it could be too late …" she mutters, her thoughts on the baby and the danger of the rising tide.

"Addison, talk to me. What is it?" Pete asks firmly, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Baby … boardwalk …" she manages to mutter before panic effuses her completely. She grabs a handful of the front of Pete's shirt and tugs him along as they rush out of the practice and to her car, Pete still attempting to interrogate her as they go.

"We could take my bike," he offers when she digs in her purse for her keys.

"Your bike? A baby on a motorcycle? Sounds like a great idea," she snaps sarcastically. He shrugs in defeat and opens the passenger door, throwing himself in beside her. She studies his panting form, remembering the tiny baby boy who shares his features. "You know what … you should get home to Violet and the baby," she tells him. "I can handle this." Both Violet and baby Flint had been rescued from Katie by Pete three weeks before, and after a few days in the hospital, which was back under the rule of Charlotte King, both mother and baby were able to go home.

"Don't do that," he warns her. "I know there's something else going on here. Talk to me, Addison."

"Th-they said … they said to wait for half an hour, Pete, but I can't, the tide is rising and they left the baby by the pier …"

"Okay, Addison, calm," he reminds her. "We're going right now, alright? I doubt these people are going to stick around, quite honestly."

"Okay," she sniffs, and spends the rest of the drive trying to comprehend how those blessed enough to have babies can cast them aside so thoughtlessly. Of course, she did the same with her unborn baby, but she can justify that as a panicked whim and rationalize that the baby wasn't old enough to know anyway.

Multi-colored lights still emanate from the boardwalk, but in muted tones, signaling the only kind of sleep the busy Santa Monica beach is able to achieve. Addison stumbles across the sand in her heels, eventually discarding them into Pete's uncertain arms and forging tentatively ahead. There is no sign of life on the beach under the eerily glowing rides, but shadows shift furtively before her eyes, erasing her certainty of what she's seeing.

As they draw closer, she finally catches a glimpse of pale pink, just at the edge of the rising waves, lapping greedily against the grainy sand. She abandons Pete and sprints forward, her regard for her own safety on a permanent leave of absence. The baby's cries are alarmingly soft but still present, and the waves have just begun to touch the bundle of pink.

Her first instinct is to keep the little girl as warm as possible, so she hugs the raggedy pink blanket to her chest, not caring that the seawater stains her peach silk blouse. As the baby's cool, clammy cheek collides with the delicate skin of her neck; Addison recognizes the moment with a child she has always been waiting for, only this moment is stolen from somebody else. That doesn't her connection with this baby any less potent or real.

Pete finally reaches them and peels the blanket down to examine the baby, pressing a finger under her nostrils to check her breathing and peering into her eyes. Addison has already done these things, they're pure instinct after so many years, but she lets him, the extra reassurance is comforting. The three of them head back to the car and Pete drives while Addison holds the baby as close to her warm body as possible, hoping to transfer heat into her cold little patient. She wants to take the baby home but has no bottles or diapers or anything else she'll need, so Pete convinces her that they should go back to the practice.

She and Pete untangle the tiny baby from her blankets; Addison estimates her weight to be around five pounds. Fingers as delicate as moonbeams bat the empty air and she cannot resist the urge to find out if the feathery white skin is as soft as it looks. A tuft of hair so blonde it is almost white decorates her head, and when she opens her eyes, Addison notes that they are not the deep azure common in newborns but instead a deep forest green.

"She's too cold," Pete comments, squinting carefully at the thermometer. "We should get her to the hospital."

"We don't have time," Addison argues. "Her blood pressure is dropping, she's hypothermic. Go turn on the shower."

Pete blanches. "But you're not supposed to take newborns in the -"

"I know!" she snaps. "But that's the only thing that's going to get her warm in time!"

Steam pours out of the bathroom's only shower with vigor as Addison steps in with the naked baby in her arms. Pete turns his back as she strips as well, discarding her expensive designer clothes on the tiled floor and stepping barefoot toward the shower, baby in arms. The water is warm but not hot and the baby gives a little sigh as it hits her. Addison tries to avoid getting the unhealed umbilical stump wet and clasps the small body to her moisture-beaded chest. There is no sense of unfamiliarity, only enveloping comfort, and tears prick Addison's eyes when she realizes the magnitude of the opportunity she'd given up.

*** . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . ***

"So it's true," a voice observes from above her as Addison is unwillingly aroused from sleep for the second time in less than twelve hours. She stirs and stretches, marveling at the heavy presence on her chest until her hands collide with the baby. A few dim recollections of the night before flood back … drying the baby as if she was made of the most fragile glass … Pete wishing them goodnight … feeding the little girl formula until she fell into deep, untroubled slumber …

The couch bounces as Violet plops down next to her, cradling the chubby, hazel-eyed baby Flint. A fuzzy hood, shaped like a bear, covers copious amounts of brown hair, and Addison smiles at the progress of the baby whose life was in mortal danger a mere three weeks ago. She and Violet sit side by side as she feeds the baby formula and Violet breast feeds.

Naomi wanders in a few minutes later, possibly wondering what the two are doing without patients. Her eyes roam from Violet and her legal baby to Addison and her illegal one. "You know we have to call Social Services," Naomi says firmly, albeit reluctantly. "It's the law."

"I think she should spend some time in the hospital," Addison says, ignoring Naomi. "She's underweight and her temperature was so low last night … wasn't it, baby, hmm?" By the end her voice has turned to a coo.

"Addison!" Naomi says sharply.

Addison finally glances up at her friend. "Listen, Nae, those people aren't coming back for her. The woman had a harder time letting go from what I heard on the phone but they nearly let her drown. I'm not just going to ship her off to a hospital right away so she can lay there all alone."

Naomi sighs; apparently having decided that arguing is pointless and leaves, most likely in pursuit of patients. Addison bites her lip to restrain the tears that are insisting on leaking from her eyes. Clearly she is not destined to get the guy, but she could have dealt with it if at least she'd been allowed to have a child.

"I think I'm going go ask Cooper to do a check-up," Addison says to Violet a few minutes later, who nods and continues rocking Flint. She gets to her feet, balancing the baby in an easy, natural way, trying to avoid thinking about the separation that looms in the future.

She knocks softly on the door to Cooper's office and opens it one handed when she hears the request to come in. What she isn't prepared for is Noah and Morgan and three week old baby Molly in for a check-up.

Seeing him isn't as painful as she might have assumed, had she been allowed to prepare for this encounter, but she still feels a jab in her heart when she notices his arm wrapped tight around Morgan's waist. She practically forced him to give it another try with Morgan and not abandon his daughter, and it seems to be going better than either of them expected.

"Addison," Noah says softly, and she evades his gaze so Morgan cannot see all the forbidden emotions contained in it.

Morgan smiles sweetly, her finger held captive by Molly's tiny hand, and peers at the baby Addison carries. "Hello, Dr. Montgomery."

Addison belatedly remembers her manners and smiles wanly. "Sorry to interrupt. Cooper, when you get a chance, this little one here needs a check-up. Pete and I picked her up near the boardwalk last night."

"You can stay," Cooper offers as he situates Molly back in her car seat. "We're nearly done here. I give Molly a clean bill of health," he says amiably to Morgan, who smiles and wraps her hand around the handle of the car seat.

"Thank you so much for seeing us, Dr. Friedman. I guess I just overreacted a bit," Morgan says ruefully as she and Noah exit. Noah tries to catch Addison's eye as she leaves but she turns purposefully away, handing the baby off to Cooper.

"Let's see what we got here," he says with a smile at the little girl, who scrunches her face and begins to wail when she's removed from Addison's arms.

"Hey now," she whispers, stroking the downy patch of corn-silk hair as Cooper presses a stethoscope to her chest, but the baby refuses to calm until she's tucked back safely in Addison's arms. Addison leans against the counter as she waits anxiously for Cooper's assessment, just like any other mother who enters this office. The only difference is that she doesn't actually have a kid.

"Well, she's a bit small, and her lungs are slightly undeveloped, but other than that, she's fine," Cooper says as his hand deposits his messy scrawl across a page. "The umbilical stump looks fine too, but you should watch for infection. It seems the shower really helped," he tells her, patting her shoulder kindly, and she infers that with all his experience with mothers, he senses her true desire.

"Thanks," she whispers, and turns to take the baby out for a few more hours of comfort in another's arms.

*** . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . ***

Eventually Naomi is prevailed upon by her ever-present morals to call Social Services, and they agree to meet Addison at St. Ambrose. She does not have a diaper bag for the baby, but she does have one of Violet's least masculine yellow onesies on covering the adorable Buddha-belly of her charge. Charlotte King waits, hands on her hips, with two Social Services representatives flanking her.

"'Bout time, Montgomery," she drawls.

"Naomi called you half an hour ago," Addison snaps, the mere concept of parting with this child already a thorn in her side.

"Don't tell me you're attached already," Charlotte groans as they head for the NICU. Addison ignores the comment and instructs the nurses on what she thinks the baby will need. Once the incubator is open and ready there are really no more excuses, and Addison places the child she loves already into the small glass space. Sparkling green eyes from deep in adorably chubby cheeks peer back pitifully, as if the baby is asking silently why the one person who cares must leave.

That's when a name occurs to her, she says when she tells the story months later, although Naomi will routinely insist that she did not come up with it until later. Cicely, the baby that is imprinted in her mind even more strongly than Batgirl.

She bends to kiss the baby's forehead but the nurses are already wheeling her impatiently away. Addison stumbles hurriedly backward, drinking in what she believes to be the last look at the child she came to know after one night. And she's not the praying type, but she asks the heavens silently that Cicely will find loving parents.

*** . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . ***

Of course, a call comes six hours later, just as Addison has settled on her deck with her feet in the sand's slippery grasp, a bottle of wine on standby in case the day becomes too much.

"What the hell did you do to this baby, Montgomery?" Charlotte shrieks over shrill cries in the background. "She's been cryin' for six hours, ever since you left."

Warmth explodes inside her, but she squashes down the sprouting hope. The more attached she gets, the harder it will be to let go. "She hardly cried at all when I had her," Addison observes as the sand falls through her toes.

"Well get your ass over here and calm her down," Charlotte says angrily, obviously at the end of her rope. "I got better things to do than be a damn babysitter."

"I'm on my way," she promises, although all she wants to do is snarl right back at Charlotte.

Addison arrives at the St. Ambrose NICU a second time to find a wailing Cicely surrounded by a crowd of people, some from Child Protective Services, some from Social Services, a few policemen, and an exhausted, harrowed looking Charlotte about ready to blow her top. Addison weaves through the surrounding bodies until she reaches the incubator and lifts Cicely, whose cries cease at the touch of Addison's hands. Those occupying the room turn to look to see what miracle calmed the baby none of them could.

"This is Dr. Addison Montgomery, the renowned OB/GYN," Charlotte asserts dryly. "She and one of her colleagues found the baby last night."

"If it's all right with you, Dr. Montgomery, we'd like to ask you a few questions about how you found the baby as soon as possible. Safe Surrender means that we will not prosecute the parents, but we'd like to get the baby in a stable home." The speaker is a kind-looking blonde man who looks at Cicely in a way that indicates he is a parent of a newborn himself.

"Uh … sure," she responds, even though Cicely's wrinkly little knee is pushing up the edge of her navy lace camisole which is paired with a pair of expensive yet unavoidably casual embroidered sweatpants. The baby resists being taken from her arms so Addison asks a nurse to prepare a bottle and tests the warm formula on her wrist before offering it to Cicely. She latches on with vigor as Addison accompanies CPS to an empty conference room.

"Our goal is to find this baby a loving, nurturing family as soon as possible," the blonde man informs her kindly. She remembers Charlotte calling him by name but cannot recall what it is so she nods along hazily as if the concept of this child being given away isn't cutting her heart as efficiently as razors. "However, some children, even in orphanages, have problems with abandonment and even develop the condition called failure to thrive. To prevent this, we need to know as much about the baby as possible so we can give prospective parents all the information."

His associate flips through a clipboard, her cinnamon-mocha hands flicking a pen open faster than Addison can blink. "How much did she weigh when she was brought in?" the woman asks flatly.

"Four pounds, fifteen ounces."

"After your professional examination of her, does she have any problems, diseases, or disorders besides being underweight?"

"She's a few weeks premature and her lungs aren't fully developed, but a week or two in the NICU should solve that," Addison whispers. This, at least, will buy her another 7-14 days of borrowed time with the irresistible child.

"Did the birth parents say anything about the where, when, or the condition in which she was born?"

"No."

"Do you think it likely they will ever seek out the child?"

"I don't think so." There are several styles of abandonment, she is an expert in the emotional kind, courtesy of her parents and Derek, but physical desertion is the trauma inducing kind. Some do it out of desperation, but Addison doesn't think there's any way those parents will show up again.

The interview, though it must have taken an hour at least, flies by as Addison spurts various statistics concerning Cicely's health, barely able to catch herself each time she nearly uses the self-christened name. All too soon it is time to replace the peacefully slumbering baby in her incubator and leave.

"We're going to start looking for eligible couples for adoption as early as tomorrow," the blonde man tells her. "Since you found her and you're her doctor, it might be helpful if you're involved in the process."

Addison nods and smiles feebly, aware that putting Cicely in another's arms will be excruciating but at least she will have a guiding hand in the baby's future.

*** . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . * : * . ***

"Urgh! Dammit, Addison! If you're going to be like this you might as well just go over there!" Naomi yells when she catches Addison pacing the reception area, her movements as tense as a stalking tiger's. Addison looks up, bites her lip, and resumes pacing forward, hand trailing along the countertop.

"Seriously, Addison. If you can't work just push all your appointments to tomorrow and stop – stop ruining the atmosphere!"

"I'm fine. I'm working," Addison says shortly, staring at her toes, which are encased in strappy gold heels.

"You're not working," Naomi argues. "And you're making all the patients agitated."

"Addison," Dell says quietly. "If you want that baby so bad go and fight for her. You could be the one to adopt her."

"I – I can't, the chances of that are …" she stutters. Hope is a tricky bastard. It worms itself in and latches on and removal is so painful she can't afford to hope in the first place.

"You'll never know unless you try," Dell points out with a smile and a wink. Addison stares at him openmouthed, not used to the young secretary giving _her _advice, but what he says is undeniably true, she will regret forever letting Cicely go.

The sun is sinking over the horizon of Santa Monica, flooding the city in periwinkle twilight. Addison's poppy-colored pleated cross-front dress flares immodestly around her thighs as she hurries out to her car, but she has not lost her skill of running in four inch Manolo Blahniks. The minutes to St. Ambrose seem long, and although it is completely unreasonable to assume Social Services has done anything more than research potential couples to adopt Cicely, irrationality gets the best of Addison and the fear that it may already be too late taunts her.

"Montgomery?" Charlotte asks incredulously when Addison nearly runs her over. The smaller woman grabs Addison's upper arm firmly and yanks her to a halt. "I do not tolerate running in my hospital unless someone is dying, and I doubt you're trying to find a dying person dressed like _that_."

"I want her," Addison says, still breathing heavily. "I want to adopt Cicely – the baby."

"You're already named her?" Charlotte's voice is sarcastic, but Addison stands her ground. "You know that's going to be tough, Montgomery. There are thousands of other _couples _just waiting to -"

"I don't care. I'll do whatever – but I found her and I want her," Addison says firmly, and her tone is such that even Charlotte doesn't argue.

"I'll talk to the Child Protective Services," Charlotte says doubtfully. "I may be able to pull some strings. But don't get your hopes up." Addison smiles, despite the other woman's uncertainty, because she feels that finally God is on her side about something.

The adoption is approved slowly, and although Addison is able to skip a couple hoops, being a doctor and all, there are still interviews and papers and signings and she knows Cicely won't officially be hers for a few months. But she is allowed, occasionally, to take the baby that will soon be hers and walk her around the practice in one of those ridiculous-looking baby carriers. Violet often joins her, Flint's chubby little arms reaching for Cicely's flaxen curls.

"You thought of any names?" Naomi asks curiously as she joins them, looking slightly nostalgic for her own baby days although she clearly has enough on her plate sorting out her relationship with Sam and taking care of Maya.

_She isn't mine yet. _That's the proper response, the answer that will keep Naomi's disapproval at bay, but she can't find it in herself to give it. "Cicely," she says instead.

"Cicely? Like the island in Italy?" Naomi wants to know.

"That's spelled with an 'S'," Addison says absently, but the truth is, Cicely is her little island of calm amidst a life that has been torn apart by so many people she isn't always sure what's left anymore. "And another 'I'."

"Well, it's better than Batgirl," Violet comments, and the three mothers smile and chuckle softly.

And before Addison knows it, Cicely officially becomes Cicely Isadora Montgomery, her daughter in binding ink. She paints the nursery in bright splashes of color, berry pink and plum purple and lime green, knowing that a conventional frilly pink nursery is out of the question with a name like Cicely. The shift to late night feedings and exhausted days is not a smooth one, but Addison thrives in her role as a mother, discovering latently that it is something she was meant to do all along.

They often bully Sam, Cooper, and Pete into watching Maya, Betsy, Flint and Cicely and enjoy watching the boys attempt to mop up the zoo that ensues. Maya, at fourteen, is in full scale teenage rebellion and Addison is relieved that Cicely is too young to understand the lyrics of the songs she blasts through the house. Betsy, at age seven, enjoys placing dolls in Flint and Cicely's little hands and watching them flail and play, showing off watermelon-pink gums.

Most nights, though, she and Cicely settle down on her back porch and watch the sun fall into the Pacific Ocean. Cicely raises plump fists in an attempt to ward off the golden rays from her jewel bright eyes, and Addison laughs at her frustration and takes her baby into her arms, tickling the adorable little rolls of fat that decorate the baby's forearms.

"No, Ellie," Addison says quickly, reverting to the shorter nickname as Cicely heads for the edge of the lawn chair, on the verge of falling headfirst into the sand. "Mommy knows the sand is pretty, but we're not going to play in it right now. We just had our bath, remember?"

Cicely gurgles happily in agreement, getting bubbly spit-up all over her soft turquoise sleeper, which has a variety of flowers arranged speckled all over it. Addison presses a kiss to her baby's forehead and leans back, allowing Cicely to play with the string to her little cotton pajama shorts. She apparently likes the taste of it, seeing as she beams up at her mother with the cord hanging out of her mouth.

There is no man, no Prince Charming, not yet. Maybe there will be someday, like Violet has Pete, Charlotte has Cooper, Naomi has Sam, even Meredith has Derek, but for now, the two of them are content. Someone will come with the capacity to love them both as they deserve, and they'll sit on this beach everyday waiting until he joins them.

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**So, I know there was no real pairing, but I just wanted to focus on Addison and the baby. What did you think? Any feedback is greatly appreciated :D**

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